THE    VI  SIGN 


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Os    s 


THE    VISION 


Haunfal 


THE    VISION 


it     HaunfaL 


JAMES   RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


CAMBRIDGE  : 
PUBLISHED    BY    GEORGE    NICHOLS. 

1848. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1848,  by 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL, 
in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED   AND   PRINTED    BY 

METCALF      AND      COMPANV, 

PRINTERS  TO  THE   UNIVERSITY. 


NOTE. 


ACCORDING  to  the  mythology  of  the  Romancers,  the  San 
Greal,  or  Holy  Grail,  was  the  cup  out  of  which  Jesus  partook  of 
the  last  supper  with  his  disciples.  It  was  brought  into  England 
by  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  and  remained  there,  an  object  of  pilgrim- 
age and  adoration,  for  many  years  in  the  keeping  of  his  lineal 
descendants.  It  was  incumbent  upon  those  who  had  charge  of  it 
to  be  chaste  in  thought,  word,  and  deed ;  but  one  of  the  keepers 
having  broken  this  condition,  the  Holy  Grail  disappeared.  From 
that  time  it  was  a  favorite  enterprise  of  the  knights  of  Arthur's 
court  to  go  in  search  of  it.  Sir  Galabad  was  at  last  successful  in 
finding  it,  as  may  be  read  in  the  seventeenth  book  of  the  Ro- 
mance of  King  Arthur.  Tennyson  has  made  Sir  Galabad  the 
subject  of  one  of  the  most  exquisite  of  his  poems. 

The  plot  (if  I  may  give  that  name  to  any  thing  so  slight)  of 
the  following  poem  is  my  own,  and,  to  serve  its  purposes,  I  have 
enlarged  the  circle  of  competition  in  search  of  the  miraculous 
cup  in  such  a  manner  as  to  include,  not  only  other  persons  than 
the  heroes  of  the  Round  Table,  but  also  a  period  of  time  subse- 
quent to  the  date  of  King  Arthur's  reign. 


THE    VISION 


HaunfaL 


PART   FIRST. 


PRELUDE. 


OVER  his  keys  the  musing  organist, 

Beginning  doubtfully  and  far  away, 
First  lets  his  fingers  wander  as  they  list, 

And  builds  a  bridge  from  Dreamland  for  his  lay 
Then,  as  the  touch  of  his  loved  instrument 

Gives  hope  and  fervor,  nearer  draws  his  theme, 
First  guessed  by  faint  auroral  flushes  sent 

Along  the  wavering  vista  of  his  dream. 

Not  only  around  our  infancy 
Doth  heaven  with  all  its  splendors  lie  ; 
Daily,  with  souls  that  cringe  and  plot, 
We  Sinais  climb  and  know  it  not ; 


THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL. 

Over  our  manhood  bend  the  skies  ; 

Against  our  fallen  and  traitor  lives 
The  great  winds  utter  prophecies ; 

With  our  faint  hearts  the  mountain  strives  ; 
Its  arms  outstretched,  the  druid  wood 

Waits  with  its  benedicite ; 
And  to  our  age's  drowsy  blood 

Still  shouts  the  inspiring  sea. 

Earth  gets  its  price  for  what  Earth  gives  us  ; 

The  beggar  is  taxed  for  a  corner  to  die  in, 
The  priest  hath  his  fee  who  comes  and  shrives  us, 

We  bargain  for  the  graves  we  lie  in  ; 
At  the  Devil's  booth  are  all  things  sold, 
Each  ounce  of  dross  costs  its  ounce  of  gold  ; 

For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay, 
Bubbles  we  earn  with  a  whole  soul's  tasking  : 

'T  is  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
'T  is  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking ; 
There  is  no  price  set  on  the  lavish  summer, 
And  June  may  be  had  by  the  poorest  comer. 


THE   VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL. 

And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days  ; 
Then  Heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays  : 
Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  glisten ; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  grasping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers ; 
The  flush  of  life  may  well  be  seen 

Thrilling  back  over  hills  and  valleys ; 
The  cowslip  startles  in  meadows  green, 

The  buttercup  catches  the  sun  in  its  chalice, 
And  there  's  never  a  leaf  or  a  blade  too  mean 

To  be  some  happy  creature's  palace  ; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives ; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings, 
And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and  sings ; 


THE   VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL. 

He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her  nest,  — 
In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the  best  ? 

Now  is  the  high-tide  of  the  year, 

And  whatever  of  life  hath  ebbed  away 

Comes  flooding  back,  with  a  ripply  cheer, 
Into  every  bare  inlet  and  creek  and  bay  ; 

Now  the  heart  is  so  full  that  a  drop  overfills  it, 

We  are  happy  now  because  God  so  wills  it ; 

No  matter  how  barren  the  past  may  have  been, 

'T  is  enough  for  us  now  that  the  leaves  are  green  ; 

We  sit  in  the  warm  shade  and  feel  right  well 

How  the  sap  creeps  up  and  the  blossoms  swell ; 

We  may  shut  our  eyes,  but  we  cannot  help  knowing 

That  skies  are  clear  and  grass  is  growing ; 

The  breeze  comes  whispering  in  our  ear, 

That  dandelions  are  blossoming  near, 

That  maize  has  sprouted,  that  streams  are  flowing, 

That  the  river  is  bluer  than  the  sky, 

That  the  robin  is  plastering  his  house  hard  by  ; 

And  if  the  breeze  kept  the  good  news  back, 

For  other  couriers  we  should  not  lack ; 


THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LATTNFAL. 

We  could  guess  it  all  by  yon  heifer's  lowing,  • 
And  hark  !  how  clear  bold  chanticleer, 
Warmed  with  the  new  wine  of  the  year, 

Tells  all  in  his  lusty  crowing  ! 

Joy  comes,  grief  goes,  we  know  not  how  ; 
Every  thing  is  happy  now, 

Every  thing  is  upward  striving  ; 
'T  is  as  easy  now  for  the  heart  to  be  true 
As  for  grass  to  be  green  or  skies  to  be  blue,  — 

'T  is  the  natural  way  of  living : 
Who  knows  whither  the  clouds  have  fled  ? 

In  the  unscarred  heaven  they  leave  no  wake  ; 
And  the  eyes  forget  the  tears  they  have  shed, 

The  heart  forgets  its  sorrow  and  ache  ; 
The  soul  partakes  the  season's  youth, 

And  the  sulphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  woe 
Lie  deep  'neath  a  silence  pure  and  smooth, 

Like  burnt-out  craters  healed  with  snow. 
What  wonder  if  Sir  Launfal  now 
Remembered  the  keeping  of  his  vow  ? 


PART   FIRST. 


"  MY  golden  spurs  now  bring  to  me, 
And  bring  to  me  my  richest  mail, 

For  to-morrow  I  go  over  land  and  sea 
In  search  of  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Shall  never  a  bed  for  me  be  spread, 

Nor  shall  a  pillow  be  under  my  head, 

Till  I  begin  my  vow  to  keep  ; 

Here  on  the  rushes  will  I  sleep, 

And  perchance  there  may  come  a  vision  true 

Ere  day  create  the  world  anew." 
Slowly  Sir  Launfal's  eyes  grew  dim, 
Slumber  fell  like  a  cloud  on  him, 

And  into  his  soul  the  vision  flew. 


10  THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL. 


II. 


The  crows  flapped  over  by  twos  and  threes, 
In  the  pool  drowsed  the  cattle  up  to  their  knees, 

The  little  birds  sang  as  if  it  were 

The  one  day  of  summer  in  all  the  year, 
And  the  very  leaves  seemed  to  sing  on  the  trees 
The  castle  alone  in  the  landscape  lay 
Like  an  outpost  of  winter,  dull  and  gray ; 
'T  was  the  proudest  hall  in  the  North  Countree, 
And  never  its  gates  might  opened  be, 
Save  to  lord  or  lady  of  high  degree  ; 
Summer  besieged  it  on  every  side, 
But  the  churlish  stone  her  assaults  defied  ; 
She  could  not  scale  the  chilly  wall, 
Though  round  it  for  leagues  her  pavilions  tall 
Stretched  left  and  right, 
Over  the  hills  and  out  of  sight ; 

Green  and  broad  was  every  tent, 

And  out  of  each  a  murmur  went 
Till  the  breeze  fell  off  at  night. 


THE   VISION    OF    SIR   LAUNFAL. 


III. 


The  drawbridge  dropped  with  a  surly  clang, 
And  through  the  dark  arch  a  charger  sprang, 
Bearing  Sir  Launfal,  the  maiden  knight, 
In  his  gilded  mail,  that  flamed  so  bright 
It  seemed  the  dark  castle  had  gathered  all 
Those  shafts  the  fierce  sun  had  shot  over  its  wall 

In  his  siege  of  three  hundred  summers  long, 
And,  binding  them  all  in  one  blazing  sheaf, 

Had  cast  them  forth  :  so,  young  and  strong, 
And  lightsome  as  a  locust-leaf, 
Sir  Launfal  flashed  forth  in  his  unscarred  mail, 
To  seek  in  all  climes  for  the  Holy  Grail. 


11 


IV. 


It  was  morning  on  hill  and  stream  and  tree, 
And  morning  in  the  young  knight's  heart ; 

Only  the  castle  moodily 

Rebuffed  the  gifts  of  the  sunshine  free, 
And  gloomed  by  itself  apart ; 


12  THE    VISION    OF    SIR   LAUNFAL. 

The  season  brimmed  all  other  things  up 
Full  as  the  rain  fills  the  pitcher-plant's  cup. 

v. 

As  Sir  Launfal  made  morn  through  the  darksome  gate, 

He  was  ware  of  a  leper,  crouched  by  the  same, 
Who  begged  with  his  hand  and  moaned  as  he  sate  ; 

And  a  loathing  over  Sir  Launfal  came, 
The  sunshine  went  out  of  his  soul  with  a  thrill, 

The  flesh  'neath  his  armor  did  shrink  and  crawl, 
And  midway  its  leap  his  heart  stood  still 

Like  a  frozen  waterfall ; 
For  this  man,  so  foul  and  bent  of  stature, 
Rasped  harshly  against  his  dainty  nature, 
And  seemed  the  one  blot  on  the  summer  morn,  — 
So  he  tossed  him  a  piece  of  gold  in  scorn. 

VI. 

The  leper  raised  not  the  gold  from  the  dust : 
"  Better  to  me  the  poor  man's  crust, 
Better  the  blessing  of  the  poor, 
Though  I  turn  me  empty  from  his  door ; 


THE   VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL.  13 

That  is  no  true  alms  which  the  hand  can  hold  ; 
He  gives  nothing  but  worthless  gold 

Who  gives  from  a  sense  of  duty  ; 
But  he  who  gives  a  slender  mite, 
And  gives  to  that  which  is  out  of  sight, 

That  thread  of  the  all-sustaining  Beauty 
Which  runs  through  all  and  doth  all  unite,  — 
The  hand  cannot  clasp  the  whole  of  his  alms, 
The  heart  outstretches  its  eager  palms, 
For  a  god  goes  with  it  and  makes  it  store 
To  the  soul  that  was  starving  in  darkness  before." 


THE    VISION 


OF 


PART   SECOND. 


PRELUDE. 


DOWN  swept  the  chill  wind  from  the  mountain  peak. 

From  the  snow  five  thousand  summers  old  ; 
On  open  wold  and  hill-top  bleak 

It  had  gathered  all  the  cold, 

And  whirled  it  like  sleet  on  the  wanderer's  cheek  ; 
It  carried  a  shiver  everywhere 
From  the  unleafed  boughs  and  pastures  bare  ; 
The  little  brook  heard  it  and  built  a  roof 
'Neath  which  he  could  house  him,  winter-proof; 
All  night  by  the  white  stars1  frosty  gleams 
He  groined  his  arches  and  matched  his  beams  ; 
Slender  and  clear  were  his  crystal  spars 
As  the  lashes  of  light  that  trim  the  stars ; 


18  THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL. 

He  sculptured  every  summer  delight 
In  his  halls  and  chambers  out  of  sight ; 
Sometimes  his  tinkling  waters  slipt 
Down  through  a  frost-leaved  forest-crypt, 
Long,  sparkling  aisles  of  steel-stemmed  trees 
Bending  to  counterfeit  a  breeze  ; 
Sometimes  the  roof  no  fretwork  knew 
But  silvery  mosses  that  downward  grew  ; 
Sometimes  it  was  carved  in  sharp  relief 
With  quaint  arabesques  of  ice-fern  leaf; 
Sometimes  it  was  simply  smooth  and  clear 
For  the  gladness  of  heaven  to  shine  through,  and  here 
He  had  caught  the  nodding  bulrush-tops 
And  hung  them  thickly  with  diamond  drops, 
Which  crystalled  the  beams  of  moon  and  sun, 
And  made  a  star  of  every  one  : 
No  mortal  builder's  most  rare  device 
Could  match  this  winter-palace  of  ice  ; 
'T  was  as  if  every  image  that  mirrored  lay 
In  his  depths  serene  through  the  summer  day, 
Each  flitting  shadow  of  earth  and  sky, 
Lest  the  happy  model  should  be  lost, 


THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL.  19 

i 

Had  been  mimicked  in  fairy  masonry 
By  the  elfin  builders  of  the  frost. 

Within  the  hall  are  song  and  laughter, 

The  cheeks  of  Christmas  glow  red  and  jolly, 
And  sprouting  is  every  corbel  and  rafter 

With  the  lightsome  green  of  ivy  and  holly ; 
Through  the  deep  gulf  of  the  chimney  wide 
Wallows  the  Yule-log's  roaring  tide  ; 
The  broad  flame-pennons  droop  and  flap 

And  belly  and  tug  as  a  flag  in  the  wind ; 
Like  a  locust  shrills  the  imprisoned  sap, 

Hunted  to  death  in  its  galleries  blind  ; 
And  swift  little  troops  of  silent  sparks, 

Now  pausing,  now  scattering  away  as  in  fear, 
Go  threading  the  soot-forest's  tangled  darks 

Like  herds  of  startled  deer. 

But  the. wind  without  was  eager  and  sharp, 
Of  Sir  Launfal's  gray  hair  it  makes  a  harp, 

And  rattles  and  wrings 

The  icy  strings, 
3 


20  THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL. 

Singing,  in  dreary  monotone, 

A  Christmas  carol  of  its  own, 

Whose  burden  still,  as  he  might  guess, 

Was  —  "  Shelterless,  shelterless,  shelterless  !" 

The  voice  of  the  seneschal  flared  like  a  torch 
As  he  shouted  the  wanderer  away  from  the  porch, 
And  he  sat  in  the  gateway  and  saw  all  night 
The  great  hall-fire,  so  cheery  and  bold, 
Through  the  window-slits  of  the  castle  old, 
Build  out  its  piers  of  ruddy  light 
Against  the  drift  of  the  cold. 


PART    SECOND. 


THERE  was  never  a  leaf  on  bush  or  tree, 
The  bare  boughs  rattled  shudderingly  ; 
The  river  was  dumb  and  could  not  speak, 

For  the  frost's  swift  shuttles  its  shroud  had  spun  ; 
A  single  crow  on  the  tree-top  bleak 

From  his  shining  feathers  shed  off  the  cold  sun  ; 
Again  it  was  morning,  but  shrunk  and  cold, 
As  if  her  veins  were  sapless  and  old, 
And  she  rose  up  decrepitly 
For  a  last  dim  look  at  earth  and  sea. 


22  THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL. 


Sir  Launfal  turned  from  his  own  hard  gate, 

For  another  heir  in  his  earldom  sate  ; 

An  old,  bent  man,  worn  out  and  frail, 

He  came  back  from  seeking  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Little  he  recked  of  his  earldom's  loss, 

No  more  on  his  surcoat  was  blazoned  the  cross, 

But  deep  in  his  soul  the  sign  he  wore, 

The  badge  of  the  suffering  and  the  poor. 

in. 

Sir  Launfal's  raiment  thin  and  spare 

Was  idle  mail  'gainst  the  barbed  air, 

For  it  was  just  at  the  Christmas  time  ; 

So  he  mused,  as  he  sat,  of  a  sunnier  clime, 

And  sought  for  a  shelter  from  cold  and  snow 

In  the  light  and  warmth  of  long  ago  ; 

He  sees  the  snake-like  caravan  crawl 

O'er  the  edge  of  the  desert,  black  and  small, 

Then  nearer  and  nearer,  till,  one  by  one, 

He  can  count  the  camels  in  the  sun, 


THE   VISION    OF    SIR   LAUNFAL. 

As  over  the  red-hot  sands  they  pass 
To  where,  in  its  slender  necklace  of  grass, 
The  little  spring  laughed  and  leapt  in  the  shade, 
And  with  its  own  self  like  an  infant  played, 
And  waved  its  signal  of  palms. 


IV. 

"  For  Christ's  sweet  sake,  I  beg  an  alms  "  ;  — 

The  happy  camels  may  reach  the  spring, 

But  Sir  Launfal  sees  naught  save  the  grewsome  thing, 

The  leper,  lank  as  the  rain-blanched  bone, 

That  cowered  beside  him,  a  thing  as  lone 

And  white  as  the  ice-isles  of  Northern  seas 

In  the  desolate  horror  of  his  disease. 

v. 

And  Sir  Launfal  said,  —  "I  behold  in  thee 
An  image  of  Him  who  died  on  the  tree ; 
Thou  also  hast  had  thy  crown  of  thorns,  — 
Thou  also  hast  had  the  world's  buffets  and  scorns,  — 
And  to  thy  life  were  not  denied 
The  wounds  in  the  hands  and  feet  and  side  : 
3* 


24  THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL. 

Mild  Mary's  Son,  acknowledge  me  ; 
Behold,  through  him,  I  give  to  thee  !  " 

VI. 

Then  the  soul  of  the  leper  stood  up  in  his  eyes 

And  looked  at  Sir  Launfal,  and  straightway  he 
Remembered  in  what  a  haughtier  guise 

He  had  flung  an  alms  to  leprosie, 
When  he  caged  his  young  life  up  in  gilded  mail 
And  set  forth  in  search  of  the  Holy  Grail. 
The  heart  within  him  was  ashes  and  dust ; 
He  parted  in  twain  his  single  crust, 
He  broke  the  ice  on  the  streamlet's  brink, 
And  gave  the  leper  to  eat  and  drink ; 
'T  was  a  mouldy  crust  of  coarse  brown  bread, 

'T  was  water  out  of  a  wooden  bowl,  — 
Yet  with  fine  wheaten  bread  was  the  leper  fed, 

And  't  was  red  wine  he  drank  with  his  thirsty  soul. 

VII. 

As  Sir  Launfal  mused  with  a  downcast  face, 
A  light  shone  round  about  the  place  ; 


THE    VISION    OF    SIR   LAUNFAL.  25 

The  leper  no  longer  crouched  at  his  side, 

But  stood  before  him  glorified, 

Shining  and  tall  and  fair  and  straight 

As  the  pillar  that  stood  by  the  Beautiful  Gate,  — 

Himself  the  Gate  whereby  men  can 

Enter  the  temple  of  God  in  Man. 

VIII. 

His  words  were  shed  softer  than  leaves  from  the  pine, 

And  they  fell  on  Sir  Launfal  as  snows  on  the  brine, 

Which  mingle  their  softness  and  quiet  in  one 

With  the  shaggy  unrest  they  float  down  upon  ; 

And  the  voice  that  was  calmer  than  silence  said, 

"  Lo,  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid  ! 

In  many  climes,  without  avail, 

Thou  hast  spent  thy  life  for  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Behold,  it  is  here,  —  this  cup  which  thou 

Didst  fill  at  the  streamlet  for  me  but  now  ; 

This  crust  is  my  body  broken  for  thee, 

This  water  His  blood  that  died  on  the  tree ; 

The  Holy  Supper  is  kept,  indeed, 

In  whatso  we  share  with  another's  need, — 


26  THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LAUJS'FAL. 

Not  that  which  we  give,  but  what  we  share,  — 
For  the  gift  without  the  giver  is  bare ; 
Who  bestows  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three, 
Himself,  his  hungering  neighbour,  and  me." 

'  'Ifc 

IX. 

Sir  Launfal  awoke,  as  from  a  swound  :  — 
"  The  Grail  in  my  castle  here  is  found  ! 
Hang  my  idle  armor  up  on  the  wall, 
Let  it  be  the  spider's  banquet-hall ; 
He  must  be  fenced  with  stronger  mail 
Who  would  seek  and  find  the  Holy  Grail." 

x. 

The  castle-gate  stands  open  now, 

And  the  wanderer  is  welcome  to  the  hall 

As  the  hangbird  is  to  the  elm-tree  bough ; 
No  longer  scowl  the  turrets  tall, 

The  Summer's  long  siege  at  last  is  o'er  ; 

When  the  first  poor  outcast  went  in  at  the  door, 

She  entered  with  him  in  disguise, 

And  mastered  the  fortress  by  surprise  ; 


THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL.  27 

There  is  no  spot  she  loves  so  well  on  ground, 

She  lingers  and  smiles  there  the  whole  year  round ; 

The  meanest  serf  on  Sir  LaunfaPs  land 

Has  hall  and  bower  at  his  command  ; 

And  there  's  no  poor  man  in  the  North  Countree 

But  is  lord  of  the  earldom  as  much  as  he. 


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